


The Last Black, or, Compromised Bloodlines

by chipperdyke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamione have children, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, and they couldn't be more different from each other, magic baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22038442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipperdyke/pseuds/chipperdyke
Summary: The last Black will be born to a Muggleborn witch and Orion's star on the Winter Solstice after the Dark Lord's defeat, and new age will begin.The story of a prophecy fulfilled, told by second-hand observers. Fluffyish multi-shot with no plot whatsoever.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 43
Kudos: 462





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp I've done it again. 
> 
> Struggled with the rating for this one. Nothing is explicit except some gross injuries. Bellatrix and Hermione are never perspective characters. Insert your favorite Malfoy Mansion rape fics as you please or don't please. 
> 
> In brief, some hopefully light-hearted fluff-like stuff for the holidays.
> 
> Also, changed this to "chose not to use Archive warnings" because everything is implied and tagged otherwise...

_The last Black will be born to a Muggleborn witch and Orion's star on the Winter Solstice after the Dark Lord's defeat, and new age will begin._

  
  


Narcissa Malfoy was unaccountably nervous. She studied her impeccable reflection once more in the mirror.

It wasn't easy, what she prepared to do. It might be the end of the Malfoys, although that was unlikely. It was something she had been preparing herself to do since she was a child. 

Narcissa went down the stairs, treading carefully. Bellatrix Black, first lieutenant of the Dark Lord in question, rated her own rooms in her sister's home. When the Mudblood was apprehended Bella had instantly snatched her up and kept her in those private rooms. She'd tortured her - the cries echoed down the hallways - and then lower cries had echoed, and Narcissa had known what they meant. 

Bellatrix was gone on a mission now, as were most of the rest of the Death Eaters. Narcissa found the Mudblood bound in the bed, naked. She unbound her and clothed her with a few wandless incantations, which she'd needed to learn as Lucius tended to fall asleep quickly. 

She let the Mudblood take a seat across from her. The fireplace crackled merrily. The Mudblood cinched the front of its robe with one hand, wary, clearly attempting to collect the shreds of its dignity. Its knees pressed together in some simulacrum of innocence. 

"You might be wondering why I am setting you free," Narcissa murmured. She placed an unclaimed wand within reaching distance of the Mudblood, and saw it look hungrily at the thing. It was on the table between them, a forbidden gift.

How long had the Mudblood been here? Three, maybe four weeks? She had no concern for its sanity, not when her own sister had been held in Azkaban for fourteen years. Bellatrix, despite her unique charms, was no dementor.

"You are Hermione Granger," Naricssa said.

"I am," the Mudblood said, its chin forward. It did not know what had already happened to it. That made Narcissa's mission somehow sadder. 

"You are unwillingly here. But, you see - you are of paramount importance to us. You are - you are the last hope for continuing the lineage of the Blacks."

The Mudblood looked to the side, staring at the wand. Naricssa had very little time to waste, but she had to extract a promise. "Come, girl," she hissed. "Surely you know what happened with Bella when she took you."

The Mudblood closed her eyes, looked down. 

"She would keep you here forever. She has begun to enjoy you, and I imagine that you may have begun to enjoy her, too. But this is no environment for - for what you are destined to do. I won't allow it.

"There is a small wintering cabin in the mountains. It is ours, mine and Lucius'. I have visited several times to ensure that there are sufficient supplies. I will take you there, and you can wait out the nine months and then do what you will with the rest of your life. Or you may leave the cabin if you choose; I am not your mistress. You may leave the baby in the cabin for me, or take it with you.

"Just one thing I must hear, because there is nothing in the world that could stop you from -" A pause. "You must carry the baby to term. In exchange for the freedom I am offering you. Please."

Granger’s eyes had become successively wider, and her hand rested on her belly. She breathed deeply, and Narcissa was impatient. 

"Please promise me that."

"Bellatrix," the Mudblood said instead. "She - when did she become how she is? Is there a cure?" Damned if it wasn't love, the shine in the Mudblood's eyes. Narcissa relaxed slightly. Her expression was not one of horror. If the Mudblood loved Bella, she should be far more receptive to what Narcissa was asking her to do.

"I was six years old when I found my sister badly beaten on the stairs. Andy and I brought her to her room and barricaded our father out. The prophecy had been spoken that day, and Bellatrix told it to us when she was well enough to speak. It would change everything - she was already engaged, but from that moment our father considered her a blood traitor and the engagement was broken. She joined the Dark Lord out of desperation. 

"We know that he will fall. We are turning on him now. You shall find that we are invaluable allies, I think.

"But your question. Bellatrix has always been something greater than the rest of us. She had been brilliant but unstable. She is naturally intimidating, but has always had a short attention span and a very quick temper. The Dark Lord and Azkaban… were not beneficial in shaping her personality. 

"You see, Miss Granger -" it took an effort, but it was needed, "- She was so desperate to revive him when he fell the last time because of you. Because she hadn't found her Mudblood, the Mudblood from the prophecy, and so it was too early for the Dark Lord to be slain. Her entire existence has revolved around this moment."

"She will not like that I've gone," Granger said, as if realizing it herself. 

"It will incense her," Narcissa said. "But it is too important that you are safe. As long as the Dark Lord lives -"

Granger interrupted her. "You are turning on him. If you help Harry beat him, can we all - will it -" Her hand clenched upon her stomach, and Narcissa felt a stab of pity. She was so young. 

"I do not know what will happen," she told her gently. 

"I will rejoin Harry. We are so close."

"Be careful. Do not duel unless you must." Narcissa felt the bizarre urge to give the Mudblood a hug, but she resisted it. She let the girl take the wand, and then she brought her to the cabin and left her there. 

She thought of all the things she could have told Granger, but didn’t. _She was as unwilling as you._ Although that might not have been entirely true in the moment. Bellatrix had railed against the damn prophecy for as long as Narcissa could remember. She had said many times that it was _her_ choice, and none other’s; yet when the time came, she had not hesitated so long as to blink. _She is not as crazy as she initially appears, and not as evil as everyone else thinks._ Also not quite the truth, but perhaps something that Granger would have liked to hear coming from Narcissa. Narcissa knew she was blinded by her love for her sister, and her knowledge of the girl that was under the mask, but she _did_ see humanity in Bellatrix. It was just buried under layers of trauma, years of powerlessness. For a woman so strong, it must have been maddening to have so little control over her own fate. 

Bellatrix Crucio-ed Draco when she returned and found her plaything gone. "Why would I have ever helped the Mudblood escape?" Narcissa hissed at her, wishing for sanity and seeing only the haze of hatred in her sister's eye. There were Death Eaters observing them, but she was desperate to save her son. Her mind jumped through ways of getting through to her sister without being too explicit. "What possible importance could she have?"

Bellatrix howled and destroyed the entire entry hall, sending everyone scrambling away, Draco safely among them. Narcissa dared to approach her later that night, sitting solitary at the head of the long formal dining room. She had a plate of food laid before her, but had not touched it, and was gazing distantly off in space. 

Narcissa protected their vicinity from eavesdroppers and sat down at Bellatrix’s right hand. “You know she was not safe here.”

Bellatrix hissed like a snake and turned her face away. 

“Stop acting like a child, Bellatrix. You should have sent her away yourself. You are so blinded - and by what? What twisted story have you told yourself, all this time?”

Bellatrix turned to face her, finally, and Narcissa could see that her eyes were bloodshot red. She spoke quickly, words tumbling over each other in a cascade. “How do you know it worked? What if she wasn’t the one?” 

“It worked the very first time, Bella,” she told her older sister gently. 

“How are you so certain?” 

“There is a simple charm.” Narcissa had cast it from the adjoining room when the noises had quieted completely, that first night. She’d been horrified to find that it was just a sloppily-done _Muffliato_ when she stepped into the charm’s effect radius, and stepped quickly back away, shaking her head, feeling very sorry for Granger. 

“The first time,” Bellatrix repeated, resting her elbow on the table and her forehead on her palm. “The _first_ time.” Narcissa couldn’t read the tone, but when Bellatrix repeated the phrase again she interrupted what was clearly a spiral.

“If you are so eager to have her back, you should know that it seems she’s quite… fond of you. She seemed almost unwilling to leave.”

Bellatrix flashed an awful grin at her. “Ickle muddy liked to play,” she told Narcissa with something like pride. 

Narcissa’s stomach twisted in disgust, and something must have shown on her face, because Bellatrix flipped her dish of untouched food over and stormed away. 

  
  


Ron Weasley was useless, as usual. He stood in the bloodstained kitchen and watched Hermione rock back and forth, casting webs of charms and healing over the most notorious Death Eater known to mankind. He watched Mrs. Malfoy bleed out as Harry cut long gashes in her robes to try to get to the splinching wounds, an unstoppered Essence of Dittany potion in his left hand. 

Between spells, Hermione said, “There isn’t enough dittany. Give it to me, Harry.”

Bellatrix Black’s guts were mostly back in her body cavity. It didn’t seem possible to Ron that she was actually still alive. Her face was as white as a sheet, and she was unmoving. The entire kitchen floor was covered in her blood, and Hermione was no trained healer. 

“This is the only one we have,” Harry said through his teeth. He’d uncovered Mrs. Malfoy’s thigh, and the sight of her bone through the flesh made Ron run to the kitchen sink and vomit into it. He looked out the window, seeing soothing white snow outside, a blanket of purity, seemingly untouched by the spring. When he’d recovered, Hermione had fastened Bellatrix’s skin together and had moved up to the woman’s face. 

There was a hissing sound, and green smoke filled the air. Hermione actually yelled, spinning on one heel on the ground and diving toward Harry. 

“You’ll spill it -” 

“Give it to me -”

Harry was scrambling backward on his elbows, the potion unsteady in his hand. 

“I’ll seal her up when I’m finished with Black,” Hermione said, and by some force of absolute determination reached Harry and wrenched the dittany out of his hand.

“It’s a waste,” Harry called after her as she scrambled back over Mrs. Malfoy’s body to the Death Eater’s and, with trembling hands, carefully applied a narrow stream of the stuff along the broken lines of Black’s stomach. “She’ll never live.”

“Why are you wasting the last of our dittany on Bellatrix Black?” Ron said out loud to the air, and Harry peered over the center divide of the kitchen to meet his eyes in the dimness. “Or Narcissa Malfoy?” he added, directed at Harry. Although Hermione had said it was Mrs. Malfoy that had released her from her imprisonment, so maybe fixing her up wasn’t crazy. Ron was unsure. 

Hermione was totally deaf to his questions. Black was splinched too, not as badly as Mrs. Malfoy, and she found each of the long lacerations and applied dittany to them, too. When she was finished, she put the potion on the kitchen floor and put each hand on either side of Black’s face. 

“Why are Death Eaters in your parents’ winter cabin, Hermione?” Ron tried again, and then his voice failed him.

Hermione was kissing Bellatrix Black, whispering something that sounded like a prayer. 

Ron looked at Harry, who was wincing and looking down. 

“It’s CPR, Ron,” Harry told him brusquely, and snatched up the dittany, seeming to recover. 

Ron turned on his heel and went around the corner to the tiny living room, where the couch was set up as his bed. He sat heavily on it. “Should I pack our stuff to run?” he asked dully, not expecting an answer. He collapsed backward, staring at the ceiling and listening to the muffled sound of Hermione’s Muggle prayers and scattered incantations.

It developed that they were not, in fact, running. It developed that Harry would be sleeping on the floor next to Ron’s couch, and Mrs. Malfoy would be recovering in Harry’s room. Black would be in Hermione’s bed. Neither was conscious yet. Harry thought he’d found all the splinches on Mrs. Malfoy, and now hesitated to so much as touch her, and Hermione was so wrapped up with Black that she barely noticed as Harry and Ron rearranged their lives around the two unexpected visitors.

Hermione closed her door, so Ron and Harry pulled up two chairs and kept the bedroom door open as they revived Mrs. Malfoy.

The woman sighed heavily and thrashed a little as she came to, but she recovered her senses quickly and looked with shock at the boys. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asked sharply. 

“Hermione brought us here. Said it was her parents’.” 

“Ah,” Mrs. Malfoy said, and she sat up slightly, seeming to take inventory of herself. “Lovely. I haven’t had such a bad Apparition accident in many years. I’m glad you were here. Thank you for your help.”

Harry nodded. “We couldn’t deny you healing, not when you were in such bad shape.”

“And my - my sister?” The unspoken question was clear: _Is Bellatrix alive?_

“Hermione’s taking care of her,” Harry told Mrs. Malfoy grimly. “She was in worse shape than you.”

“I - I know,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Most of that happened before I was able to get to her.”

“What happened, Mrs. Malfoy?” Harry asked her. 

“My sister decided it was a good time to try the Killing Curse behind the Dark Lord’s back. It didn’t work. Clearly. And he decided that a quick death was not suitable, giving me enough time to come to her aid. I told Draco and Lucius to flee, but I do not know where they went.”

Ron looked around with alarm, hoping that two additional Malfoys hadn’t somehow found their way into the tiny cabin as well. 

“Bellatrix Black tried to _assassinate_ the Dark Lord?” Harry was focused on Mrs. Malfoy.

“Yes,” she said, sighing. “Even given the prophecy that said you were the only one who could do it. I tried to talk sense into her, but she has always been impatient to a fault.”

“You’re on our side?” Ron asked her, just to be sure he was hearing right.

“We have turned on the Dark Lord. Yes.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Well. You should present yourself to -”

Mrs. Malfoy interrupted him. “I need to find my husband and son, first of all. But before that - could you provide some water?”

Harry jumped to his feet, and Ron followed him to the kitchen, whispering. “Do you believe that bullcrap?” 

Harry was filling up a glass of water from the magical spigot in the sink, holding his nose. “Ron, will you clean up your sick?” he said instead of answering, and then whisked away back to Mrs. Malfoy.

Ron, grumbling, did as Harry requested. 

All sound from Hermione’s room had quieted by the time Harry and Ron were settling into their new sleeping arrangement. Harry continued to avoid his questions, so Ron went to sleep. 

Around midnight, Ron went to the bathroom. He opened the door without knocking, and found himself face-to-face with a very ragged and frankly terrifying Bellatrix Black, dressed in a ridiculous frilly blue sleeping dress. 

She snarled at him, and he stumbled back all the way down the hall and hid in the front room until the door to Hermione’s room was closed again. 

The next day, Harry made eggs and bacon, and Hermione appeared for as long as it took to load up one large plate of the food and ask about Mrs. Malfoy. They gave her an abbreviated version of the tale, which Hermione seemed to take in with half an ear. She excused herself without a single comment, and Ron followed after her.

“Hermione, are you alright? This - this entire thing seems really -” he caught a glimpse of her wrist, exposed on the arm that held the plate. “Is that a _bruise?_ You were her prisoner - why -”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Hermione whispered at him, scowling deeply.

“Take some _veritaserum_ and tell us that you’re really OK,” Ron persisted. “This isn’t natural, Hermione. You should hate her like the rest of us do.”

“She is on our side,” Hermione said sharply, her voice a bit louder. “Bugger off, Ron.” 

Harry was leaning against the counter looking alert when Ron reappeared. “There’s something wrong with her, mate,” Ron said, and served his own plate.

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Harry told him grimly. “Or something like it.”

Ron swallowed his food quickly and then choked when he tried to speak. When he recovered, he whispered, “Do ya think they’re - you know -” 

“Shagging?” Harry looked like he was trying to decide whether to tell Ron something.

“That wasn’t any CRP, last night,” Ron persisted. “Did she tell you something she didn’t tell me?”

“It’s not my place,” Harry told him. 

_“That’s_ what happened when she was prisoner,” Ron said, and Harry made a hushing sound. 

“Ron, you know the walls are paper-thin. Have some decency.”

“But if she was in her right mind -”

Harry squirmed. “I will talk with her when I can, but neither of us can really tell her what to do, Ron.”

“I actually think it’s sort of our _job_ to do that, Harry!” Ron’s voice came out in a squeak at the end, which did embarrass him enough that they spent the rest of the meal in silence.

That afternoon, Hermione emerged from the room. Bellatrix Black trailed her, dressed back up in her usual robes, the rends and holes in it mended by magic. She was pale, ethereally beautiful, and Ron couldn’t help himself but to stare. It felt like that Veela magic that Fleur Delacour had, a little bit, except instead of adoring her the sensation of attraction just disgusted Ron more. 

Mrs. Malfoy had already left, going to check a few locations to see if she could track down Mr. Malfoy without trying to owl, which would likely be a useless endeavor as he was hopefully already Unplottable. If he wasn’t, odds were that the Dark Lord would have caught him by this time anyway. 

Hermione stood slightly ahead of Black, as if to shield her from Ron and Harry. “We are going to the Black vault to retrieve Helga Hufflepuff's Cup.”

Black cleared her throat. _“I_ am going. _You_ will not be coming with me.” 

Hermione scowled and turned slightly to glare at Black. Seeing that Hermione’s foul mood seemed to extend to their houseguest relieved a little bit of Ron’s anxiety. A little bit. 

“It’s too dangerous for you to go alone,” Hermione told Black.

“Ron and I will go with her,” Harry spoke up. “Right, Bellatrix?” he said, tipping his head and raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

Black’s eyes dropped to meet his. “That would be - acceptable, as long as you properly conceal your identities.”

Harry gave her a thumbs-up. “We had a plan to use Polyjuice. Hermione’s a pro at making it.”

“She will not be making the potion,” Black said, nose pointed distinctly skyward, and Hermione made a muffled sound of dismay, but did not argue the point. Odder and odder. Oddest. Ron frowned. “I hope that the two of you boys can manage a passable version with her oversight. You may bring her photographs and small samples.”

“Right…” Ron said, looking at Harry disbelievingly. “Right, because that _totally_ makes sense.” 

Harry patted Ron’s knee without looking at him. “We’ll get right on it. It will be a few days.”

 _“Obviously,”_ Black growled, and she turned around and went straight back into Hermione’s room.

“Mate,” Harry said to Hermione as she began to follow. “There’s - a thing, a stick, stuck outside in the - in the tap mechanism - would you come out with me to help fix it up?”

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes, putting a hand on her hip. She was deeply flushed, Ron noticed for the first time. “Yes, Harry,” she said, and followed him outside.

Ron lay back on the couch and counted the slats on the ceiling for the millionth time. Thirty-three. He was alone in a cabin with Bellatrix Black, murder extraordinaire. He gripped his wand tightly on his chest and waited it out.

  
  
  


Minerva McGonagall was no stranger to fear, but the feeling of deep shock laced with fear was an unusual one for her. She stared slack-jawed as Bellatrix Black marched into the Great Hall, looking directly at her. 

A _volunteer?_ Minerva took her wand out (she was no fool) and marched to the woman, careful not to come too close. Black could bite like a cobra if she was so inclined. 

“Don’t look so shocked,” Black chuckled as Minerva opened her mouth. “I am sure that you have heard that I switched sides.”

“You are here to defend Hogwarts?” Minerva straightened her glasses and her shoulders. 

“Cross my heart and hope not to die,” Black said flippantly, but she did draw her wand and make a cross over her heart. Not an Unbreakable Vow, but a magical promise nonetheless. It was proof enough that her words were genuine, at least. 

“Well. Hmm. Will you - meet Arthur at the West Wing to set up fortifications?”

“Yes.” Black looked searchingly around the Great Hall. “Where is Granger?”

“Hermione? Granger?”

“The one and only,” Black said. Her face seemed to contort briefly, and then settle back into blankness.

“Miss Granger has not yet presented herself,” Minerva informed Black. _And if she had, I am not sure if I would be inclined to disclose her location to you._ There was something hungry about Black’s look. Hungry, or desperate, or both.

“The Dark Lord has demanded Harry Potter. I thought he would be with - with her?” 

“Not that I am aware,” Minerva said stiffly. Black’s face twisted into that grotesque mask again, and she spun and stalked away. Minerva watched her long enough to be assured that she seemed to be headed toward the West Wing, and then she turned back to continue fortifying. 

Minerva did not see Black again until the one-hour reprive in the battle. Harry was completely missing, but Hermione and Ron were huddled together with a few of the other students orbiting around them. Black marched straight over to the two and drew Hermione away from Ron, and Minerva focused a hearing-enhancement charm in their direction and tried to keep her head down.

It was Black. _You gave me the slip. I woke up alone._

_It - I didn’t mean it like that, Bella. This isn’t about you, or us. We just need to win, which meant we had to leave you behind._

_I am your best weapon. Anything that you needed -_

_We needed to go to Hogwarts. You can’t mean that you’d be a great asset sneaking around the school, could you?_

_Should have left a note._ Black’s voice held a distinctive note of petulance. _And I can see that you’ve been fighting. Where have you been?_

_I - I didn’t think you’d actually show up here. I would have -_

_Would have what? Gone to get me and stayed behind in safety?_ Minerva feared for Hermione, with that dangerous tone coming from Black, and it seemed she wasn’t alone. 

There was a magnified sound of shuffling, and then Weasley’s voice interjected. _Give her some space, Black. You don’t own her._

Black made a loud growling sound. It was Granger that spoke next. _Bella, put that thing_ away. _Ron, I’m fine._

 _Wonniekins has a teensy crush._ Black cackled. _Now, be careful - if you puff your chest up any more, you’re liable to begin floating away._

_I - I don’t, you’re just - why won’t you leave her alone? And all this talk - the potionmaking - what -_

_He has no idea what I did to you._ Minerva shuddered at the tone of Black’s voice, and shot a glance over at the group.

Black was leaning over Granger possessively, and Ron was wide-eyed, his face screwed up into a confused and defensive look. The poor boy had such unattractive features. 

Granger pushed away from Black, but they were facing away from Minerva so she could not read their expressions. She looked down quickly. There were so many bones to mend, and her attention had drifted completely from the task. She set upon it once again; an unconscious seventh-year, a Ravenclaw Quidditch player, muscular and young and very unfortunately broken. 

_You’re disgusting,_ Granger whispered to Bella, and Minerva thought to herself that she would like to know what on earth Black had done to Granger, too. _Why would you say that?_

_You’re mine._

_Not if I don’t choose to be._ Minerva glanced up to see Granger storming away. Black jogged after her, exhibiting the boundless energy that Minerva remembered from her time at Hogwarts thirty years ago. 

Lovers, Minerva thought to herself, shaking her head at the absurdity of it. Well, Granger seemed to have Black under control, judging from the bowed look of the woman as she scurried after the girl. Granger was of consenting age at seventeen; it was not any of Minerva’s business at all.

The student stirred under her hands, coming to with an unpleasant shriek. “Dawn,” Minerva remembered her name, finally. “Dawn, everything is under control. I have just mended your bones, so you should be in some pain, but as good as new when it fades. Water?”

Dawn groaned and turned over on the cot. “I think this is the fourth time I broke that specific rib. One of these days we should just leave it broken and see how that goes.”

“Yes, well,” Minerva said, and pushed a jug of water into the girl’s hand before moving on to the next. 

  
  
  


Jill Tylor was bored. "Hermione Granger," she called out, looking down at the chart. This was her third appointment with National Health Service, and the prior two hadn't raised any red flags. She looked up to see Granger moving toward her, some gothic figure towering behind her. Jill was momentarily fazed, but covered it up by looking back down at the charts, looking for the girl's age. _Seventeen._ She repressed a sad sigh. 

They went through the admission procedures. She took Granger into the room ahead of the goth, and asked her if she felt safe at home, and if there was anything she'd like to say between the two of them. A non-relative was listed as the girl's emergency contact - estranged from the parents, then. Jill saw too many cases like this one to be too surprised, but Granger was not sulky at all. She was sweet, with an innocent smile and a smattering of freckles. 

Jill let the goth in, checking the emergency contact name. "Are you - Molly Weasley?"

The goth snorted, but Granger answered. "No. This is Bellatrix."

"Welcome, Bellatrix. So, today is your second ultrasound, and if we are lucky I'll be able to tell you the sex of your baby."

Granger smiled happily and looked over at Bellatrix, who was perched at the edge of the guest chair, looking with interest at the medical equipment. An aunt? Their hair was equally curly, but their features, while both beautiful in a magazine fold out way, were not otherwise similar. Probably a friend, then. A much older friend. What was it her son called it - Cosplay? The woman was certainly wearing some sort of costume, although the girl's style was more preppy than anything else. 

Jill shook her head and directed her attention to the ultrasound machine. 

After some probing, she found the baby. The heart beat sounded regular, which was good. "Do you see the feet?" she asked them, and the two shuffled. 

"Yes, look!" Granger said, and then the baby moved away from the intrusion and Jill had to start all over again. 

"She's moving," Granger told the goth, and the goth muttered something under her breath. 

"There's her head," Jill said, snapping a screenshot quickly before the baby could move again.

 _"Her?"_ The goth sounded almost upset, and Granger laughed a little. Jill hazarded a glance at them and they were close together, holding hands. The girl was crying and the goth was scowling fiercely. "It's supposed to be a boy."

"Oh, well," Jill fumbled, moving the wand up again. "It's not. See?" She was trying not to be rude, but it was difficult with the goth and the whole unfortunate situation. Lesbians. How utterly unconventional. 

"Just looks like a bunch of lines to me," the goth muttered, and the girl giggled at her. 

Jill took a few more shots and printed them out. When she was turned away, the pair of them had the gall to begin openly snogging. 

"She's still moving," Granger told the goth, and the goth put her hand the girl's stomach. Jill shook her head and left the photos on the table, excusing herself. 

  
  


Andrew Jamison was distracted. "Late again, Black," Andrew said, ticking her name off the list and noting the time. She sneered at him and placed the transparent bag with her personal belongings on the table. She'd already changed back into the prisoner garb. 

"Keeping this," she said, flashing a piece of paper at him, and he shrugged at her and turned back to the radio. He'd missed a key play, it seemed, and the Holyhead Harpies had possession. He doodled and tried to work out what had gone so wrong, as thunderous echoes of cheering came through the tinny speakerphone. 

  
  


December 19, 1997, the day that Narcissa Malfoy finally decided it was OK to hate her big sister. 

They'd been given the keys to the Black Mansion, empty and abandoned since their father died twenty years ago. The house elves had long since perished, and the house was infested with Cornish pixies, bats, and common rats, which all co-existed in seeming obliviousness to the fact that not one of them belonged there. Oh, and spiders. Spiders, too.

Narcissa brought her own two house-elves with her to help, but there was far too much to do in forty-eight hours to be finished with it all in time. Bellatrix, predictably, had marched into the mansion, declared that it was suitable, and left Narcissa to it. 

So Narcissa did something she had never imagined doing before. She Floo-ed Andromeda. 

They'd met over tea twice since the Dark Lord's defeat, and touched only briefly on the subject of Bellatrix. Andromeda's cottage was small enough that when Narcissa stuck her head into the fire and shouted, she appeared around the corner of the living room promptly. 

"Andromeda," Narcissa sniffed. "I am calling to ask for your help."

"My help," Andromeda said, sitting slowly down on the couch by the fire. "What is it that you need, sister?"

"Bellatrix plans to bring the - Granger and the child back to our childhood home in two days, and we just received the keys back after - as you know, months of _trials_ and _hearings_ and all that nonsense, and the house is a complete _nightmare,_ absolutely unsuitable for a newborn, but Bellatrix has gone already and -" she was nearing tears. 

Andy made a soothing gesture. "I will be there in an hour," she told Narcissa, and Narcissa nodded her thanks, incapable of expressing the depths of her gratitude. 

"The solstice is the twenty-first, remember," Narcissa told her. "I don't know where Bella has _gone."_

"Probably back to the Burrow," Andy guessed. 

"She is utterly ridiculous."

"She has something else on her mind, I'm sure," Andy said soothingly. "I will be right there."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I know everyone, I said one-shot. So call me a liar...

Contrary to popular belief, Molly Weasley did not enjoy doing the dishes. Cleaning was fine. Cooking was a delight like none other. But dishes were nearly an insult, after hard work finished, after food consumed, and then… _dishes._ It wasn't exactly the same now that the nest was empty - fewer dishes, just Arthur to blame. 

She hummed irritably to herself and checked the clock. Arthur was running late to the Ministry, doubtless dawdling. The twins had frozen their - George had frozen his and his brother's hands - on Mortal Danger, a half-hearted joke that made Molly want to pull the hands right off the clock. 

A _FWUMPH_ sounded in the living room, and she turned incredulously around. She'd _just checked_ the clock, yet someone...

Oh!

"Hermione, I told you not to Floo with the baby!" Molly scolded, hurrying over to take the infant from Hermione as the girl stamped out the fire that had caught her robes. 

"You told me not to Apparate either, so what was I supposed to do?" Hermione was near tears, and Molly took a closer look at her. She clutched the baby closely to her chest, not letting Molly anywhere near either of them. "And the Which Witch says Floo-ing is fine. It's old-fashioned - I don't have a House elf -"

Molly hushed her. "Just because of the possibility of fire, is all, dear girl." She gave up trying to take the baby and instead pointed the business end of her wand at the last of the flickering flames before they caught the rug on fire. 

When they were settled with tea and biscuits, Molly waited patiently for Hermione to gather her thoughts. She'd come here for a reason, clearly. Molly had decided long ago not to pry, but wondered if this had anything to do with the black diamond ring that she'd seen Bellatrix with, pacing and muttering to herself, outside in the Burrow's garden. It had been two months ago, before Orion Black III, last of her name, was born.

Hermione had stayed here, at the Burrow; the tiny house had filled with family for the holidays, and Bellatrix Black was a constant, disturbing presence beside her pregnant - whatever she was. Girlfriend didn't seem like the right word. Bellatrix had snatched Hermione and the baby up and taken them to the Black Mansion the moment that Molly had declared them both healthy. 

Hermione bit her lip and kept rocking the baby, although the baby made no sound, a docile and happy child. She looked like a different species of animal than Molly's children, with a thin mop of dark hair and thoughtful, silent eyes. 

"Rion was crying this morning. She was just hungry, but Bella - she wouldn't - and I hit her, finally, and she hit me back and said I hadn't learned my place." It all came out in a rush, and then Hermione sniffled and looked down. 

Molly had often wondered who Hermione talked about these things with. The things being her relationship and, specifically, sex. She'd both hoped for and dreaded the idea that Hermione might go to Ginny, but she was clearly not here to find Ginny as Hogwarts had started again. Ron wouldn't be suitable, for obvious reasons, and Harry? Harry, Molly hoped, would be as ignorant as Ginny. Not that Molly's own experience was exactly applicable, either. 

Which might mean she didn't talk to anyone. "Was that the first time?" Molly asked carefully.

"Yes!" Hermione responded instantly, and then amended it. "For a long time, at least, although when we first - when she was keeping me, she was - rougher."

Molly stayed silent, waiting. It paid off, because Hermione filled the silence with more words. The girl was looking to the side, flushed but clearly eager to share her confidence. "She isn't ever exactly kind, but she is usually gentle. But I can't believe she would _say_ that. What does she think my place is? I thought -" 

So it wasn't the small spate of violence that had upset Hermione, but Bellatrix's words. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or a bad one. Molly remembered the black diamond ring and Bellatrix's obvious distress. "I am sure that it was simply a reflex, dear." 

She patted the girl's knee, topped off her untouched tea, and wondered whether she was encouraging an unhealthy relationship. Molly didn't really know what Bellatrix Black thought of the girl from her prophecy, except that she certainly had not needed to submit herself to imprisonment and those trials, and she hadn't needed to open her home to the girl. Ever a mystery, that woman, and she had changed so much from the girl Molly had known from school - except perhaps she hadn't, not as much as everyone else seemed to think. 

"Or it's what she's been thinking this whole time," Hermione said, and then broke down completely. The baby in her arms fussed, which redirected Hermione's attention to caregiving rather than her own misery. Soon, they both quieted. 

"Why don't you ask her?" Molly asked gently. She wondered how much communication was possible with someone like Bellatrix Black. It couldn't be easy. Indeed, Hermione's eyes filled again with tears, and Molly braced herself for whatever was coming. _You're always welcome back here,_ she wanted to tell her, but she shouldn't jump the gun on this. She needed to hear whatever horror story would come now. 

"How, though? Without opening up the chance that she'll - what if she decides to just _keep_ Rion, and get rid of me?"

"We would never allow that to happen." Although if she'd just named the child "Granger" this would not have been such a problem. She wished there was another adult to consult, an actual family member. "What about your parents? Didn't Harry find them? Maybe it's time -"

Hermione was shaking her head with obvious determination at that, though. "Not yet," she said, and as always Molly wondered what on earth was stopping her. She seemed to have settled upon an idea which brought a small smile to her face. "I'll make sure she's happy before I ask," she said. 

"Maybe that's not -" 

"No, it is," Hermione said, eyes glistening. "I can handle her, I just need to be - I'll just be careful."

Like one of Hagrid's wild beasts, Molly thought unkindly, but she offered no further protest. 

_She wore a yellow silk dress, thin as gossamer, and nothing underneath. Her lover was pliant as she pushed her down into their mattress and worked her shirt up, settling the nakedness of their bodies against each other._

_"Who do you think I am?" she between breathy moans into her lover's ear. "What am I to you? What do you want me to be?"_

_Her lover worked a ring off her pinkie finger, putting it between their bodies, presenting it with an unreadable expression. Her words came out in broken fragments, as if wrenched from her throat._

_"Wife. I'd like you to be. Will you?"_


	3. Chapter 3

Wendell Granger was worried. 

When he first saw his daughter and knew her for what she was, he was excited. He'd known something was missing, the two years in Australia. He'd thought he secretly missed the country of his birth, and he certainly didn't want to share that information with Jean as they'd risked so much to go to Australia to begin with. She told him, the night that Hermione restored their memories, that she'd felt something missing too. They hadn't shared that sense of loss with each other, which was strange for them. They shared everything. 

The first thing he noticed was the ring on his daughter's hand. "Who's the lucky guy?" he asked her, trying not to feel like he should have been there. 

"It's complicated," she started, and then she explained about a reformed terrorist, a prophecy, a marriage, a baby. He had been shocked into silence at that. He'd never thought that he'd be a grandfather before reaching the age of fifty. 

She'd showed them photos on her flip phone. The resolution wasn't very good, but the baby was not newborn, with thick curly black hair and a large, toothless grin. He was missing something here, but he wasn't sure if he should push. 

It developed that France was one quick but unpleasant Portkey journey away from Australia. Hermione stayed the night at their home, but had insisted that they accompany her promptly the next morning. Sunday, July 14th, 1999, a date that Wendell would bring to his grave. 

Hermione was showing them the manor grounds out the window of a tall stone tower connected to the manor. There was a village in the distance, townspeople specks out the clear glass of the window. Hermione had the infant on her hip, and the baby gargled and tugged at his daughter's blouse. Wendell averted his eyes. She was too young for this. She was eighteen years old!

"It's all ours. As far as you can see."

"Are they Muggles?" Jean asked. 

"Yes, but the land is unincorporated and legal authority still rests in the Blacks' hands. It's a special district. Nobody bothered to check on it, even while Bellatrix was in prison and the manor was held in trust."

"They're your servants?" Jean asked her. 

"I wouldn't say that," Hermione returned. Jean tried once again to take the baby from Hermione, but the tiny being turned her face away and hid from her. "Rion, that's your grandma," Hermione whispered to the baby, and then she turned apologetic eyes on Jean. "I'm sorry, she just started doing this. She was so friendly at the - last month," she stumbled conspicuously. Wendell tried not to notice. 

"That's all right," Jean said.

"Oh, it's nearly twelve. Andy is bringing Teddy over. We should go down to meet them." They trailed Hermione down the long circular stairwell to the manor proper. "Andy is Bellatrix's sister," Hermione told them as they went. "Teddy is Rion's cousin twice removed; Andy's grandson."

The woman who appeared in the study fireplace, toddler in hand, was strikingly beautiful though haggard and wearing those ridiculous wizard robes. Wendell introduced himself and his wife while Hermione sat her baby down on the carpet and took the toddler, greeting him with familiarity. She introduced him to her parents, and then put his feet on the ground. He took a few steps over to the baby and offered her a toy from his sticky hands, which she snatched instantly and put directly into her mouth. 

"It is so very good to meet you both," Andy said with a wide smile. "I am so glad to see you at last."

"You as well," Jean responded politely. 

"Four hours, as usual?" Hermione asked her, seeming to be rushing her out. 

"Yes," Andy told her. "Is Bella -?"

"She'll be home soon," Hermione answered quickly, looking anywhere but her parents. 

They settled into the drawing room, which had a much cleaner rug than the study. The babies played with each other as children do - mostly Teddy made a game of taking the chewing toy away from Rion and then throwing it and racing her to get it. The baby quickly tired of the game and crawled over to Hermione, who attempted to continue their conversation while nursing. Oddly, Teddy climbed up on the couch and leaned against Hermione's other side, sucking his thumb, so that it looked like Hermione had two children rather than just the one. The toddler's hair had turned a bright blue over the course of the visit, and he seemed to try to burrow into the teenager's body, which Hermione allowed.

"He's jealous of her," Hermione tried to explain to them. "His mother - he hasn't had his mother since he was just a few weeks old."

"What happened?" Jean inquired. She was more forward than Wendell; always had been. 

"She died," Hermione said simply. "A lot of people died during the war. But it's over now."

"And your - your wife?" 

As if the words were a summoning, there was a riotous cacophony in the study. Curses drifted down the hallway toward them, and Hermione pulled the baby away from her breast. The baby began crying, and Teddy burrowed even closer yet. 

Hermione was trying to close up her blouse. Wendell stood up, approaching the doorway. 

"Damn fire pokers," the new voice said, and then a tall, dark, murderously gorgeous woman was standing in front of him. She wore a long, thin skirt and a tight corset that showed off a large bosom. 

Wendell had not known precisely what to expect. Well, probably someone who was a little more - what was the word - masculine? His mind stuttered trying to reconcile the idea of his daughter, married to this creature. 

"Bella!" Hermione exclaimed over the crying baby. "Bellatrix Black. My wife."

"The parents." Bellatrix seemed to glower, before adopting a false, tight smile. "Mr. Granger." She nodded, not offering a hand, unlike her sister. "Mrs. Granger. You'll stay for dinner, I imagine?"

"We'd hoped to," Wendell said, unaccountably intimidated. He put down his hand, wiping it on his pants leg. He thought the woman was probably his age, perhaps a bit younger. He was accustomed to dealing with hard customers at his private practice, but they usually had their mouths open and were laying flat, which made the situation a bit easier on him.

The woman disappeared almost instantly back into the study, and Hermione trailed her slowly, walking at pace with the toddler. He heard a trailing question - _"Where were you this morning? You weren't supposed to -"_ The door closed behind his daughter, cutting off the rest of the exchange. 

A servant from the village was sent for, and soon the smell of roast pork and greens wafted from the kitchens. _Kitchens,_ because there were several, the manor outfitted to house an army. Wendell left Jean with Hermione and the babies to wander the corridors for a short time, finding several boarded off sections and an entire wing that was completely closed. 

Dinner was… awkward. Wendell tried to muster up conversational topics with the ex-terrorist. "And what are you doing now?" he asked, wincing internally. 

"Private contracting," the woman said over the rim of her goblet. 

"Quite an impressive palace you have, here," he tried again. 

"It's been in the family for generations." She put the goblet down and looked pointedly down at her own untouched plate. 

The food looked delicious. It tasted like ash in his mouth.

Jean had some mercy on him. "Hermione was just telling me that she's planning to taking some courses at Hogwarts again."

"Part time," his daughter told him. The baby whined from her high chair, fingers covered in carrot mush. "I'm mostly studying for my NEWTS at home, but coming in for a few of the harder classes once the school year starts."

"That's great, honey," Wendell said. "You've got a big family, it seems." Directing the question at Bellatrix Black. 

She grunted and drank more. 

Hermione spoke up. "Bella and I are going on holiday next month. She's taking me to Hawaii."

Wendell attempted to imagine that woman in a bikini and failed utterly. The Portkey home could not come soon enough. 

"You'll visit often," Bellatrix said as they were making their farewells. It was more a command than a question. Wendell blinked away his exhaustion; his wristwatch read 3am Australia time.

"Every weekend," Jean promised. 

"The guest bedrooms are ready for you," Bellatrix informed them, sounding regretful, but Hermione's smile was brighter than any sun. It was enough to assuage Wendell's worries. If Hermione was happy - despite the admittedly unique circumstances - he was happy for her. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little snippet this time. Couldn't resist. Dream invasion. I regret nothing.

Ron Weasley filled a glass of water and then ran his hot hands under the faucet, nervous and jittery. Harry waited on the collapsed couch in the living room of the Burrow, Rion on his lap. They were playing with a puzzle game suitable for two-year-olds; Rion was fully engaged in attempting to fit the large wooden blocks into the board, and Harry was patient and non-interventional. 

There was a ruckus in the adjoining room, the only bedroom located on the first floor and close to the Floo, and Ron fled quickly out of the kitchen and back to safety in the living room. Andromeda Tonks sat in the corner chair, looking oddly relaxed. The sound of Teddy Tonks-Lupin shrieking happily in the yard, floating two feet high on a child's broomstick, filtered in through the drafty windows. Ron paced, envying Ginny for her babysitting job on the lawn, but somehow unable to actually leave the house and join her. 

"Bonkers," Ron muttered. "Absolutely, utterly bonkers."

Harry looked at him over the rim of his glasses. "You didn't have to come," he reminded Ron the upteenth time.

"Of course I did," Ron told him irritably. 

Wendell Granger emerged from upstairs, peeking down at the group, a novel gripped tightly in one fist. Harry shook his head minutely, and Wendell turned tail and retreated back up the stairs to Ginny's old room, now a guest room. 

An earsplitting cry, too high to be Hermione, filled the Burrow, and everyone stood up. Rion turned in Harry's arms to burrow her face in his chest, and he held onto her tightly. Wendell reappeared at the stairwell. 

"All right," Ron muttered. "Good, all right," as if the words would comfort him. They didn't. 

Bellatrix appeared, hair piled haphazardly on her head, a few smears of blood on her white shirt. Her hands were clean, except that she clutched a white index card in one hand. 

In the other, she held a pin. She grabbed Ron's hand and pricked his finger. It happened so quickly that Ron yelped a couple seconds after she'd squeezed the tip of his finger, releasing a drop of blood onto the index card, right beside a much smaller smear. 

"Bella!" It was Hermione, clearly distressed, calling from within the room. 

Bellatrix ignored her, turning to Harry. "Hand?" she commanded. 

Harry faltered briefly, and then gave her his right hand. She pricked his finger and dripped the blood onto the card as well. Then she turned away from them, pricking her own finger last of all. 

"Ever heard of Hepatitis?" Ron muttered, watching her. She was pointing that creepy bent wand of hers at the paper. 

"Bella! Come back here." 

The midwife appeared in the bedroom doorway. Wendell watched cautiously, seeming unsure as to whether his finger would be demanded. Rion was leaning toward her mother, not quite releasing Harry. Bellatrix ignored them all. 

The paper in her hands glowed. Two of the red blood markings lit up brilliantly in blue; the other two stayed dull. 

Tension left Bellatrix's shoulders, and she turned peremptorily to Harry and scooped Rion up. Rion clamped her arms and legs around the woman's body, saying, "Ma" as if it was an accusation. Bellatrix trotted back into the bedroom. 

There were muted murmurings. Bellatrix's voice carried. "Meet your sister, Rion. Rose Black."

"Did she really…" Ron said to Harry. 

"Bet Hermione's gonna give her hell for it," Harry said, but he was grinning a little. "You know what the prophecy said."

"Bugger the prophecy," Ron said to him, but he couldn't help but be slightly, sadly satisfied that Bellatrix considered him a threat to her marriage. Enough that she was willing to check, even though it developed that this baby like the first had jet-black hair that lay flat on her tiny baby head. 

Bellatrix did not allow the boys to touch the newborn, but when she left with Rion, Hermione handed the baby off to Ron first of all. A part of him felt that in a confused, deep part of his chest. He imagined the baby's hair red, eyes blue rather than this dark, deep black. 

"Rose," he murmured to her, bouncing on his heels. "A nice name, Hermione." The baby contemplated his face, and he wondered what she saw. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am not re-starting this fic, and I DEFINITELY haven't written about 3K Bellamione in 24 hours. 
> 
> Second, thanks to both letthemysterybe and acautionarytale, for giving me permission to write new Bellamione kids (because I couldn't find the courage before) and for prodding me into a sprint that made this thing. 
> 
> Hope this answers some readers' questions from before and if you have any other wonderings - do drop them in the comments, because it just might spur another chapter in who knows when.

Bellatrix Black poked hopefully at the keys on the small mobile device she held in her hand, and her daughter looked dubiously on. Rose Black-Granger, eleven years old, was waiting impatiently at the terminal for the Hogwarts Express, and thought that the parent who'd been granted the ignoble job of escorting her here was doing a downright terrible job of it. 

Rion picked at invisible hairs on her black formal robes, but Rose had chosen a fashionable Muggle outfit with the thought that, despite the fact that it was only Ma here at the station with her, it would lend her a certain credibility with the incoming first-years. She hoped to meet a few Muggleborns, at least. Rion had sniffed at her choice, and stood now with her shoulders turned slightly away from Ma and her little sister. 

Teddy trotted past them, waving a large hand at the sisters as he joined some other forth-year boys. Rose almost followed after him, but she balked at the last moment.

Plus, she had to say goodbye to Ma. She looked all the way up at her mother, an ebony tower topped by riotous curls, and waited until Ma sighed, putting her phone into one of the pockets of her skirt. 

“I guess - I guess I’ll just be going, then,” Rose said, dropping her eyes to fiddle at the handle of her trunk.

“Hermione will be here,” Ma told her, a slight frown crossing over her face. “You’re not so eager to leave right now, are you?”

Rose looked up and down the platform. Most of the other students had already boarded. The clock read 8:55. 

“Well, _I_ won’t wait,” Rion said, putting her nose in the air. “You know that she’s probably not going to make it. She hasn’t texted you back, _obviously._ And if the last seat in my friends’ car is taken, I won’t ever forgive her.”

 _I won’t ever forgive her,_ Rose’s thoughts echoed. She’d extracted a string from the handle of her trunk and began working it farther out, her fingers shaking a little. 

Rion started away, and Ma took one long step and grabbed Rose’s sister up in a big, backwards hug. “Write weekly,” she commanded.

“I’ll call you.” Rion’s voice was muffled. “You always forget about that.”

“Yes, well. Stay out of trouble and study for your exams.”

“Of course, Mother,” Rion said crisply, with minimal sarcasm, and escaped Ma’s grip. She walked sedately to the train car, her trunk suspended slightly by a wordless, wandless spell. Before she boarded, she shot one final glance back at them, and her eyes met Rose’s. 

They could have sat together on the train! Just because Rion was a third year, and Rose was the youngest, and - oh, well, wearing Muggle clothes, that was probably it. Rose could have asked her ahead of time, but her head had been filled with the dream of meeting her new best friends on the train ride, and now Rose suspected that she’d probably find the only empty compartment in the entire train and ride alone. Maybe that’d be better, anyway.

Ma went down on her knees, and Rose pouted and turned her face away, tugging at her own suitcase. “Well, then,” Ma said gently. “There’s no reason to cry.”

Rose pulled down the sleeve of her jumper and wiped furiously at her eyes, feeling her face heat up. Crying in public, in the station. Rion had said her first year was difficult, that her lineage had earned enough scorn as it was - and that was before Mum was appointed, wasn’t it? Rose thought it would be so much worse for her. Especially since she was the short, chubby one, and her big sister was beautiful and self-composed and nothing ever proved a challenge to her - 

Ma said, “I’ll call you when I’m back home. You don’t have to answer, but you can if you want.”

“Okay,” Rose mumbled. “Thanks, Ma.” 

“Be proud, my little Rose. We’ll always be there for you. You’re -” Ma struggled a little. 

“I’m not anybody,” Rose interrupted. “Remember?” It was a persistent source of frustration for her. Rion had been named in the prophecy. Rose had been an accident, and spent her childhood running on short legs after her big sister. 

“You couldn’t be more wrong. You make your own destiny, Rose Black-Granger.” Ma sat back on her heels, pulling the trunk out of Rose’s hands. “Find Lex Weasley and the Crowley twins,” Bella told her. “They’re already on the train, and will be in your year. Now, let’s get you loaded up.”

The Express’s horn blasted as Ma settled Rose’s trunk in the luggage compartment. 

“Wait,” Rose said, and Ma paused on the stairs, turning back around. Ma was still taller, even a few steps down. 

Rose flung herself into Ma’s arms, and Ma held her tightly. “You’ll be all right, my little cub,” Ma murmured. 

“Final boarding,” a voice boomed across the platform. 

“What House will I be sorted into?” 

“Whichever best suits you,” Ma told her softly. “It won’t be Slytherin. And that’s okay.”

“It doesn’t even matter to you. Because I’m not Rion.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ma said slowly, pulling slightly away, looking at her intently. “Because you’re you. Understood?”

Rose looked back at her, wishing she had inherited any small piece of her impressive parent. “All right, Ma,” she said. 

The train lurched a little, and Ma nodded once at her and then took the last few steps down the stairwell and to the platform.

Rose pushed open the car door and went down the hallway, stepping carefully as the train picked up speed. She could see the kids in the first compartment, older, maybe sixth-years. She tried to remember which direction Teddy had gone, but her head was spinning a little and she felt sick.

Two years ago, Rion had left home, and it was just Rose and her parents. Last year, Mum had begun working so late that Rose didn't see her most days, and it was only Rose and Ma. Now, even Ma was gone, and Rose was completely alone. 

She didn’t see anyone in the next compartment, and pushed open the door without checking the other bench. The sound of childrens’ chatter ceased instantly, and she bit her lip and finished pushing open the door, palms slick with sweat.

“Hi,” she said hesitantly. It was two boys, seated in the center of the bench, their legs dangling beside each other’s like a four-legged creature. They looked up at her with identical expressions of surprise.

“Hi!” the one on the right, who had black hair and pouty lips, said to her. He smiled. “Thought we’d end up alone, since everyone had already boarded.”

“I was waiting for - nevermind. I was just late, I guess.” The train lurched, and she held onto the frame, still pushing the door so it stayed open. 

“Well, are you coming in?” the other boy said. He had freckles and sandy blonde hair. 

“I was looking for my friends,” she told them.

“Well, if the prefects find you walking about, you’ll wish you’d stayed here,” the first boy said. He moved his hand into his lap, and she realized that they must have been holding hands before.

“Well… all right.” They seemed friendly enough. And, she realized belatedly, they were both also wearing Muggle clothing. 

“We’re in our first year,” the first one informed her as she sat down across from them. The compartment door closed, and the noise of the train’s movement quieted considerably. 

“Me, too,” she said, beginning to relax. “I’m Rose.”

“Berty and Clay,” the first boy said, poking his own chest and then nudging the other boy with his shoulder. “We’re cousins sixteen times removed.” 

“Oh,” Rose said. “You know each other?” 

“Since we were in swaddling clothes, my Mum always said. They liked to share the same sitter, our Mums.”

“So -” Rose stumbled, realizing she hadn’t given her own last name and not knowing how to ask them what theirs were.

“Rosier and Jones,” Berty told her, seeming to understand what her question would be. The first was a pureblood house, but the second was common. “And yourself?”

Rose blushed and regretted everything. “Um, Granger,” she abbreviated.

Their expressions were, once again, identical in surprise. “There’s only the one Granger, isn’t there? Is the Minister for Magic your mother?”

“Yeah,” Rose said. “But I -”

“Brilliant!” they said simultaneously, grinning at her, and she relaxed.

“Brilliant, yeah,” she echoed, her heart aching a little. Her phone rang, and she dug it out of her pocket and pushed the “End” button, cutting the shrill ringing short. She stuck the phone back into her pocket and looked back up at the boys. “So what house do you think you’ll be sorted into?” 


End file.
